


i'll fight for you through this madness

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Darkness Around Stiles's Heart, Derek Feels, Derek Leaves, Derek is Stiles's Anchor, Hallucinations, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Nightmares, Stiles Feels, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's probably what it is.</p><p>That's what I'm fighting this for.</p><p>I'm doing this for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll fight for you through this madness

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So, um, this is something my mind worked up from watching the full trailer for season 3B. Hope you like it, er… yeah.

When Derek left Beacon Hills, Stiles felt like a part of him had escaped his body and left town along with the werewolf. 

A part buried deep down inside him, hidden from even himself 'til now. 

A part of him ripped away. 

A puzzle missing an important piece, the one piece that completed the puzzle itself. 

It was like his entire life had been shaken and turned upside down.

Nothing was the same. 

His daily schedule returned to the same old, boring routine as it always had been before his best friend turned furry and bright-eyed, before he found out about the supernatural world.

Go to school. Come home. Do homework. Go to bed. 

Oh, right, then stay awake for hours every night.

So yeah, maybe not everything went back to normal. 

Nightmares were the new normal nowadays. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he'd see her. See his mother lying in her hospital bed, slowly wasting away. Dying.

Her skin pale as the stark white sheets she lay on, her amber eyes doused of their life, two brown pools that held a dull gaze. Their depths looked like dirty dishwater, nothing alike to how they once were before. 

The way they used to shine with a healthy golden glow or twinkle in the sunlight were now gone, along with her dazzling smile and addictive laugh.

He'd always wake up gasping breathlessly for air, hands clenched tightly in his sheets, covered in sticky sheens of sweat that would cling to his skin like glue and stick his sheets to his body. 

Every time he woke up, it felt like a panic attack. It shouldn't, but it did. He didn't know why but the nightmares weren't just psychological, they were also somehow tethered to his physical health as well as his mental health. 

He was tired all the time, the deep, dark rings and heavy bags under his eyelids just proof of his sleep pattern which consisted of barely two hours of shuteye a night. His cheeks had hollowed out, bone definition sharper, but not in the porn actor way you drooled over, the unhealthy way doctors shook their heads and frowned upon.

Days passed slowly, the sleepless nights taking their toll on him as he zoned in and out of classes, everyone's voices being drowned out by silence. Sometimes he'd fall asleep, no matter if he tried to fight the drowsiness. 

And when he did, a new batch of nightmares haunted him.

One nightmare is when the darach takes Lydia hostage. Instead of Lydia, though, this time it's his dad. Jennifer slits his throat and he can't do anything but scream and shout, try to smash down the door blocking him from running to his dad's side. 

In the nightmare, Sheriff Stilinski dies alone with his son watching helplessly from behind a closed door, tears streaking down his cheeks and fists aimlessly banging against the glass.

Another nightmare is when he'd tried to convince Scott to hand him the road flare. This time, though, it's him holding the road flare, his clothes, skin and hair dripping with gasoline. Scott is the one begging him to hand it over, to not drop it onto the ground at his feet where he's standing in a small puddle of the strong-smelling chemical.

In the nightmare, Stiles drops the road flare and flames sink their burning claws into him and drag him down into their blazes. 

He dies surrounded by blistering heat, Scott screaming his name and Lydia and Allison's hysterical cries tearing through the air. The sound of the inferno crackling around him and a drifting wind whispering its final breeze into his ear is almost kind of peaceful. 

The last nightmare he has, the most frequent one so far other than his mother, is when he'd found Derek knocked unconscious in the elevator. Except this time, though, Derek doesn't wake up.

In the dream, Derek doesn't respond to anything. Doesn't jolt up from his punches, eyes snapping open. Doesn't grab his arm before he can land another. Doesn't gasp awake and kiss back when Stiles presses their lips together in a last-ditch effort to bring him back. 

Derek doesn't move, or breathe, or do anything but lie there, still and lifeless as Stiles's head rests on his chest, over his silent, non-beating heart, muffled, half-choked sobs and wet tears shed into the torn material of his Henley.

The nightmares never stopped. They followed him everywhere. Just living daily life felt like an internal battle, a continuous fight for his sanity. 

Sometimes it wasn't just the nightmares. Sometimes it was more. 

Hallucinations, either another side effect from no sleep or from the sacrifice. 

As soon as he stepped foot outside the house, they started. From lingering dark shadows in school corridors to grotesque writing in blood across walls, hallucinations popped up everywhere and plagued his every waking hour.

It wasn't right, it wasn't natural, and it definitely wasn't healthy. Stiles knew this. Oh, hell, he knew that what he was going through was impacting him in the worst ways. But what could he do? 

If Scott and Allison were going through the same torturous experience he was, they didn't show it. Allison was hanging around Isaac more lately, and Scott with Ethan and Danny. They both looked happy whenever he saw them, not flinching at every sound they heard or turning around frequently to make sure nothing was following them. They seemed normal.

Stiles wished he could come across normal like they could. Wished the nightmares and hallucinations would just disappear and leave him alone. He hated being afraid of every little noise, hated the feeling of dread he'd get when he'd see the shifting forms hidden in the shadows and the red, smeared writing scrawled across any available surface in sight.

He tried blocking out the hallucinations, ignoring them. It never worked. No matter how many times he tried to walk past them like he hadn't seen them, they kept appearing over and over again until he didn't have a choice but to notice them or risk going completely crazy.

Not like he hasn't already.

He knows he's going crazy, knows he's slowly losing his mind. Seeing  _IT'S YOU STILES, YOU KILLED HER_ written in blood on walls pretty much 24/7 can kind of do that to a person.

It's no way to live, being scared of your own stupid shadow all the time, jumping and flinching at every single goddamn noise, seeing illusions everywhere you turn, nightmares creeping their way into your conscience when you finally get the chance to rest your eyes. 

If it's going to be like this forever, why bother with forever? Why not just end it all now?

Stiles admits that sometimes, sometimes he thinks about it. Ending it all. It wouldn't take much, really. A handful of pills. Maybe a slit to each wrist. 

But then, then he remembers. He's got friends. His pack. He's got his dad.

He's got Derek. 

Derek, whose life has been nothing but a nightmare. A nightmare worse than what he's going through. Way worse.

Paige. The girl he'd fallen head over heels in love with. The girl he'd had to kill, to save.

Kate. Kate Argent. The woman he'd fallen for months later, who had burned his family alive, abused his trust and betrayed everything he'd thought of her, everything he'd thought she was to him. He'd learned that she was a lie. They were a lie. She only wanted to hurt him, kill his family. Destroy him.

Peter Hale. His own uncle killing his big sister. Ripping her in half and carelessly leaving her body in the woods for anyone to stumble across and find. Leaving her for Scott to find. To bite Scott. Turn him into a werewolf. Get Scott to kill his pack. His friends. Getting Derek wrapped up in more trouble, bringing him head to head with Kate Argent again.

Kate had shot him. He'd nearly died from wolfsbane poisoning, if not for Scott getting the bullet to save his life. She'd kidnapped him. Strung him up in the Argent basement and electrocuted him. Tortured him. 

Boyd and Erica. His pack. Dead. Boyd by his own hands, his own claws. He'd blamed himself. Still blames himself. Blames himself for everything wrong that's happened in his life. Stiles knows he does.

When Stiles thinks about what the werewolf has gone through, he always ends up crying. Crying until his eyes are red and puffy, sore when he rubs them and achy at the brightness when he unlocks his phone to check his messages. 

To check if Derek's text him. Contacted him to tell him where he and his sister are. Tell him why he left in the first place.

No. There's never a message. Never. No matter how many times he checks.

Every day when Stiles looks at his messages, the name _Sourwolf_ not displayed on any of the messages, he sighs and just stares. Stares at his phone, at the contact, knowing if he texts or calls, the werewolf won't answer. He never does.

 _That's probably what it is_ , Stiles thinks, running his thumb over the contact on his phone gently, closing his eyes.  _That's what I'm fighting this for. I'm doing this for him._

Stiles knows he's not giving up. 

He  _won't_.

Not until, at least, he sees that name pop up on his phone, a message telling him where Derek is. That he's  _safe_.

He'll wait forever, even if forever is filled with pain and agony and torture, even if he has to keep this up for the rest of his life. Keep going crazy. Keep losing his mind, slowly, day by day.

Because none of that matters. Won't ever matter.

Derek is the one that matters, and Stiles is not giving up on him like everyone else has done. 

_If you're going through hell, keep going._


End file.
